


"farewell, my paradise"

by whoseboat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Excessive use of the word fuck, Gen, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoseboat/pseuds/whoseboat
Summary: Tendou's lived an okay life. Everything's fine, he's fine, absolutely nothing happened to make him feel this way.(That doesn't change anything, though.)I don't own the characters discussed in this fic.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	"farewell, my paradise"

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning/ TW: This piece goes into detail about panic attacks, suicidal thoughts/ a near attempt, depression, and other such themes. Please don’t read if these might be triggering for you. Thank you.

Everything was so fucking much. His chest hurt, everything hurt, it was all too fucking much and he didn’t know what to do and it wasn’t usually this fucking bad why is this happening why --

He was sobbing. He didn’t used to think that word fit people crying, but there was nothing else that could really match what else he was doing. Holding a hand over his mouth, he tried to make sure his parents and little sister down the hall couldn’t hear because why the fuck are you even crying, Satori? Nothing fucking happened nothing’s wrong why the fuck are you acting like this nothing fucking happened --

He needs to move. Everything feels wrong. His sweatpants are twisted and he can feel the seem of his sock and they need to fucking stop because it feels so wrong everything’s so fucking wrong what the fuck --

He thinks about killing himself a lot. I wouldn’t go through with it, he would think to himself. I’d be leaving my family in pain, I couldn’t do that to them. I can deal with this, nothing’s fucking happened I’m just overreacting to fucking nothing. 

Today felt different. The guilt that normally tied him down -- the idea that he would leave a mourning family, that all the money they spent on nice clothes and private schools and volleyball and manga, would all be for nothing -- didn’t seem to matter today. It hurt too fucking much to care, because he couldn’t fucking deal with this. I can’t fucking deal with this, I can’t, I can’t, if it got any worse I wouldn’t be able to --

He couldn’t breathe. Satori was used to panic attacks, both the silent ones he sat though in his classes when he missed something I missed something why don’t I understand to the out of the blue, full body attacks that left him breathless and crying in the corners of his dorm room. Tonight was more of the latter, and he couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling in his chest that he could never find the words to describe, not even to himself (It’s not like there was anyone else he needed to describe them to, though, so he guessed it wasn’t the most important thing). He doesn’t know when his breathing starting evening out, just that eventually he was able to stand on shaky legs and collapse onto the floor near his desk (Satori fucking hated that feeling almost more than thr attacks themself -- the undescribale wrongness and weariness that stays with him hours after his lungs start working and he’s able to move again).

Satori used to get migraines. They had lessened over the years, but he still had a fair amount of prescription medicine lying around in case they came back. Seven tablets of sumatriptan, three of rizatriptan, half a bottle of Advil and a nearly full bottle of tylenol were all stashed in a desk drawer, just in case. Satori figured he still had some other random medicine around -- some bendarly and allergy medicine, maybe, but he didn’t know what good that would do him. He doesn’t know where he heard it, but Satori knows that it’s sort of difficult to overdose on Advil. Has heard enough stories of people waking up to hospital-white lights after downing half a bottle. He also knows that sleeping pills aren’t the way to go -- that instead of putting you off to a light sleep, they put you into unimaginable pain before you slowly lose consciousness. Satori wonders if Benadryl will do the same, with how he always seems to fall into a coma for a couple hours whenever he has to take it. 

It’s a strange feeling, when you realise that there’s nothing really holding you back. Satori was used to this realization -- once you get over the idea that societal expectations really had no hold on you if you simply don’t give a shit, it’s a lot easier to be the type of person that Satori was known to be. This was the same sort of feeling. He held the Advil in his hand -- he had counted them out meticulously just a few minutes before, and knew that there were 47 left in the bottle. He wondered if that was enough. He didn’t think it was. They spilled out when he tried to hold them all in one hand, so Satori carefully picked up about half. There was nothing stopping him, really. Nothing can ever really stop someone from doing something. Nothing stops you from shouting in the middle of a crowded street, or jumping up onto a table during lunch to yell at his friends, or from taking 47 Advil, seven tablets of sumatriptan, three tablets of rizatriptan, some tylenol, and maybe the benadryl, if he really wanted to figure out if it acted just like the sleeping pills, and finally fucking ending it. His parents, his friends, everything -- nothing really mattered at that moment. It wasn’t even that they mattered less than the horrible feelings inside him, it was that they didn’t matter at all. Satori couldn’t seem to fucking care. He didn’t care that they’d be sad, that he’d been a waste of his parents’ money and his friends’ time, it didn’t fucking matter. He couldn’t take this feeling any longer, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t ---

Satori put the Advil in his mouth.

.

.

.

.

.

“Satori! Wake up, Satori. What the fuck is this? Didn’t I tell you yesterday to clean your room? You have cups bottles all over the place, Satori-”

Tendou opened his eyes. The sunlight was coming in from his unclosed blinds, his body was buried under layers of blankets despite the slight humidity in his room, and his door was opened to the hallway. His mother was walking around his bed, picking up bottles and cups and saying something Satori couldn’t quite make out. He blinked.

“This room is absolutely disgusting, Satori. Get your ass out of bed, you need to clean this shit up. Whenever you come home, all you do is laze around and make a mess, I swear. It’s already eleven, come on, get up.”

His mom walked out of the room. Satori stared at the ceiling. He sat up slowly, looked across his room to the closed, half-full Advil bottle on his desk, and sighed. He checked his phone. It was 10:43. Tendou looked around the room, eyes scanning stacks of manga and volleyball tape and half beaten-up textbooks. He closed his eyes.

.

.

.

.

.

“Hey, Tendou! How was your weekend at home? Must have been nice to see your family after a while,” Reon asked as he walked up to Tendou outside their homeroom class. Tendou smiled, mouth and eyes too big, too creepy --

“Yo! You know it. Hey, did you read the last episode of Jump over the break? ‘Caus I’ve got some theories--”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece in about half an hour at 3:30 a.m. today. As this is also the first fic of any type I've written in months, and my first Haikyuu fic/ fic on AO3 ever, I'm sure that this is full of errors (grammatical and otherwise), but oh well. 
> 
> The experiences that I describe here with anxiety and depression are my own. Everyone’s experiences, thoughts, and actions are unique, and this is not meant to represent every aspect of these issues. This was really just me projecting onto Tendou, because I love him and feel a connection with him.
> 
> If it wasn’t clear, Tendou does not take the Advil/ pills. He goes to bed, and the second to last scene is the morning after the night. 
> 
> If you’re struggling with thoughts of suicide, the U.S. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255, and there are other resources online for international numbers, etc.


End file.
